


Different Destinations

by Inzannatea (Zanna23)



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Angst, Comfort/Angst, Gen, Time Loop, Tropes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-07
Updated: 2017-07-07
Packaged: 2018-11-29 01:02:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11429916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zanna23/pseuds/Inzannatea
Summary: The night before Phryne is supposed to fly her father back to England, Mr. Butler wants to have a word. If you've ever wondered how both of them seem to know how to do everything, this might provide some answers.





	Different Destinations

She sat alone in the parlor sipping at her whisky. She had a long flight to begin in the morning with her insufferable father as her only company. She had to keep her parents together. Last time was a disaster.

“Miss?” Mr. Butler’s voice interrupted from the parlor door.

“Yes, Mr. Butler?” she looked up at the sound of his voice. Her own voice sounded more ragged than she’d expected it to sound. Today had been a ‘Scenic Railroad’ of emotion.

“I’m sorry to intrude, Miss Fisher,” the butler started, “but I was wondering if I might have a word?”

“Of course, Mr. Butler,” she indicated to the seat across from her, “Please have a seat.” She fully expected him to remain standing as he usually did for these conversations. He surprised her but taking the seat. “Would you like a whisky?” she offered, “Or a sherry?” He smiled lightly. “Thank you, Miss Fisher. I will have a whisky. Sherry is my general preference,” he confided, “but tonight, I think whisky is fitting.” She smiled and tilted her body to reach the decanter to pour a measure of whisky in another glass for her butler and refill her own glass. Handing the glass to him she announced, “Whisky it is.”

They sipped in silence for a long moment. Phryne started slipping back into her maudlin thoughts. Finally, Mr. Butler spoke. “How many have you lived so far?” he asked. For a moment, she thought he asked how many drinks she’d had, but with a rising sense of panic, she realized that wasn’t what he was asking at all.

“Excuse me?” certainly he couldn’t know. Nobody ever knew. She was alone in this—whatever the hell this was—curse, she supposed.

“Pardon me for presuming,” Mr. Butler continued, “But—there are signs.” He studied her carefully before continuing, “You’ve lived this life before.”

Phryne stared at him in stunned silence. “How can you…” she whispered, “How can you know that?”

Mr. Butler looked gave her a look of deep understanding and even deeper sadness, “This isn’t my first time around either.”

Phryne choked out a sobbing laugh. “I thought I was alone!” she said at last. Mr. Butler nodded sadly before continuing, “For many of my lifetimes, so did I,” he seemed to be looking at something that wasn’t in the room with them, “the Tibetan Buddhists call it Kalachakra, or time-cycles. Other religious traditions have their own explanations, of course,” he glanced back at his employer, “There aren’t many of us, not in this time.”

Phryne looked at him quizzically, “What does that mean? ‘Not in this time’?” Mr. Butler took a sip of his whisky before explaining. “We don’t travel in time. It is, as you’ve already experienced, just a matter of reliving your life,” he said with a tinge of sadness, “Different choices lead to different destinations.”

Phryne tried to process what she was hearing from the man. “This is my third time. I’m not sure what has been hardest, losing Janey each time or the wars.” She finally said softly.

Mr. Butler considered her, “It’s always the closer things that hurt the worst for me in the long run,” his eyes filled with moisture, then he smiled, “but they also make the journey worth bearing.”

Phryne huffed a laugh, “I try to keep from getting too close to anyone because of how much it hurts when they go away,” she took another swig of her drink finishing it. She set down her glass, picked up the decanter, and began pouring another, “I tried loving a lifetime the first go around. It ripped me apart. It took me most of the last one to get over it.” She hadn’t noticed the tears running down her face until one dropped on her hand. She wiped them away, attempting to shake herself out of her sadness.

“So, how many lifetimes has it been for you, Mr. Butler?” she asked.

“I’ve honestly lost count,” he reported, “somewhere between twenty and twenty-five, I think. It stops mattering,” he was resigned, “For many of my lifetimes, I tried to figure out how to break the cycle. How to just…end. That  _ would _ be truly glorious. People often wish to live forever, but I think they don’t really understand how truly terrible that wish is.”

“Do you think there is a way,” Phryne looked at him carefully, her heart was breaking for him. For both of them, really, “to break the cycle, I mean?”

“I think so,” Mr. Butler mused, “I have looked for others again, others like us. I’ve found them, in different lifetimes. Sometimes we recognize each other. Sometimes they don’t seem to have any memory of me at all. I don’t understand how any of this works,” he smiled sadly, “even after all this time. But I’d like to think that it means that they’ve moved on. Whatever that might mean.”

Phryne nodded, “I had rather been hoping the third time was the charm.” Mr. Butler smiled at her, “It is my deepest hope for you that it will be.”

They sat in companionable silence, sipping at their whisky, each lost in the memories of time and time and time again. “This is the first time I’ve actually tried to find her,” Phryne finally spoke, “Janey, I mean.” Mr. Butler left his memories to focus on her story. “I thought, ‘maybe if I can bring resolution to it, I can move on.’ Of course, I tried to stop her murder the second time, and this time as well, both times have apparently caused a ripple that led to the death of my husband Pascal before I even met him.” She blinked back tears. “We were very happy,” she rasped, “In my first life, I mean. He was a good man.” She sniffed and wiped her eyes, collecting herself and firming her voice, “He wouldn’t recognize me now. I’m a very different woman than I was my first lifetime.”

Mr. Butler nodded in understanding. “There have been a few Mrs. Butlers,” he offered, “I’ve loved them all very deeply. But you’re right. Life changes you. You can’t expect to connect to the same people over and over in the same way. Sometimes you do, of course, but it’s always strange.”

Phryne pondered this staring at her glass, “That’s why it’s easier not to commit. Better.”

Mr. Butler studied her profile for a few moments. “You’re not coming back, are you Miss? To Australia, I mean. Not this time.” Phryne closed her eyes and let her head drop, “I’m already dangerously close to caring too much, Mr. Butler.”

“If I may, Miss, life without love is merely existence,” he stated, “I know it hurts. I know the pain more than you realize. I’ve known the pain of losing my loves. I’ve known the pain of having a beloved face look through me as if I were a stranger. I’ve known the pain of memories of children who will never be born.” Tears were flowing down both of their faces. “I’ve known all of this,” he said, his voice getting strained and rough, “and I would still choose to love.”

They sat in silence as they finished their drinks. Finally, Mr. Butler stood and gave her a short bow, “If you do decide not to return, Miss Fisher, it has been an honor and a privilege to serve you. I truly hope that this third time is your charm.”  Phryne stood quickly, catching him by surprise in a hug, “Mr. Butler, thank you!” she gushed at him, “Thank you for—well, everything! And I will think about what you’ve said,” she added, “Painful and frightening though it may be, I think I’m tired of just existing.”


End file.
